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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29721345">shy little rabbit teething on a shotgun</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/arysa13/pseuds/arysa13'>arysa13</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>prompts filled (bellarke) [45]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The 100 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bondage, Choking, Consensual Non-Consent, Degradation, F/M, Gags, Hair-pulling, Mob Boss Bellamy, Rape Fantasy, Rough Sex, Smut, Tags Contain Spoilers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 19:01:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,684</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29721345</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/arysa13/pseuds/arysa13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>She wasn’t even supposed to be out tonight—her father has warned her more than enough times to be careful. That there are bad men who’d like to hurt him, and what better way than through his daughter?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>aka Clarke is kidnapped by mob boss Bellamy.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>prompts filled (bellarke) [45]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/592417</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>239</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Bellarke smut</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>shy little rabbit teething on a shotgun</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/logologist/gifts">logologist</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Happy birthday Arne! This isn't even as late as the one I wrote you last year so actually I think I'm doing well sdjfsk. I hope this is something like what you wanted.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thank you Maria for your advice and for the title &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She wasn’t even supposed to be out tonight—her father has warned her more than enough times to be careful. That there are bad men who’d like to hurt him, and what better way than through his daughter?</p>
<p>Clarke has never paid it much heed—he’s just a senator after all, it’s not like he’s the fucking president. And plus, it’s so much more fun to do something if she knows she’s not supposed to be doing it. Like going to a club by herself without telling anyone, for the sole purpose of getting absolutely railed by a hot stranger.</p>
<p>But it’s not like anyone will notice she’s gone—her dad’s paranoid, but not paranoid enough to have someone keeping tabs on her at all times. She’ll be back before he even wakes up.</p>
<p>Her night out had been cut short, however, when the uber driver dropped her off a block from the actual club, and she’d had to walk the rest of the way there in her short skirt and too high heels, on an empty street.</p>
<p>Except she never even made it there. Like something from the cold open of one of those crime shows, she’d been grabbed from behind, roughly, one hand covering her mouth, the other arm tightening around her waist, making the world fall out from under her.</p>
<p>She struggled, of course she did, but her assailant was much bigger, much stronger, and easily overpowered her, shoving her into the back of a car, where she was gagged and bound faster than she could blink, some sort of cloth bag or pillowcase pulled over her head to blind her.</p>
<p>Her mind has conjured up all sorts of horrible scenarios in the last ten minutes, each more sordid than the next, and none of them ending well for her. Most of them involve her naked and bloody in the bottom of a ditch. She’s still got some idea in the back of her mind that she might escape, and she’s holding onto that to keep her sane.</p>
<p>The car has pulled to a stop now, and Clarke can hear her kidnapper get out of the car and slam the front door closed, followed moments later by the back door opening.</p>
<p>Terror truly surges through her now. She’s pretty sure it’s terror. Her heart is pounding wildly, her thoughts racing. Big hands grab at her, drag her from the car, and she tries to squirm away from him, wriggling in his thick, strong arms as he throws her over his shoulder, like she weighs nothing it all. He simply chuckles at her efforts, her struggling of no consequence to him.</p>
<p>He carries her somewhere, and she can hear him breathing, can hear his footsteps against the concrete, and a dog barking somewhere in the distance. She can feel the heat of his skin through their clothes, everywhere he’s touching her. His shoulder against her stomach, his arm around her waist, her tits bouncing against his upper back, and one hand between her legs, gripping her thigh to keep her steady. Her skin tingles there, sparks of electricity crackling out to the rest of her body. She tries not to think about how a slight slip of his hand would have him pressed against her cunt.</p>
<p>This shouldn’t be stirring something in her, she knows that. But something about the way he’s manhandling her, the way she’s so obviously so much smaller and weaker than he is—it’s fucked up, and she hates herself for it, but she can feel something tighten inside her, knowing that she’s completely at his mercy. That he can do anything he wants to her, and she’s powerless to stop him.</p>
<p>A heavy door slams closed, and then it’s even darker than before, whatever light from the street that had seeped through the cloth over her face now gone. He lifts her from his shoulder, her stomach bottoming out as he drops her, with her having no idea where she’s about to land.</p>
<p>Her ass hits something soft, bouncing slightly on what seems to be a springy mattress. Footsteps, and then a soft click, and light glows through her blindfold again, seconds before it’s ripped from her head.</p>
<p>He stares down at her, hulking and intimidating, a horrible, wicked smirk plastered across his undeniably handsome face. Clarke’s gaze lingers on his bulging arms, folded across his chest. Dark curls fall across his freckled forehead. There’s a scar slit into his top lip, betraying the dangerous man he is beneath his good looks, but it’s not exactly what Clarke pictured when her father told her about the men who’d like to see him taken down.</p>
<p>She meets his eyes, flushing when she realises it’s perfectly obvious she’s been looking at him a little too intently. He lets his own eyes rake over her, making Clarke aware that her tits are thrust towards him obscenely, her low-cut dress leaving little to the imagination. Plus, the hem of her skirt has ridden up her thighs, and her little black panties are on display.</p>
<p>She’s got no way to cover herself, and she can do nothing but blush as she allows herself to be leered at. She squirms, wetness leaking into her panties. She tries to tell herself it’s unrelated.</p>
<p>“I’m going to remove the gag,” he tells her, his voice deep, rough. “But there’s no use screaming. There’s no one around to hear you, understand?”</p>
<p>Clarke nods. Her pulse is still fluttering erratically, fear and adrenalin pouring through her veins. He could easily untie the gag, or even just pull it from her mouth, but instead he produces a knife from somewhere, cutting it away, the blade dangerously close to her cheek. She squeezes her eyes shut, holding her breath, terrified he’s going to nick her skin.</p>
<p>But then he’s pulling away, taking the gag with him, leaving her face undamaged. A small amount of tension drains away as that particular part of the ordeal is over. But she has no idea what else is to come, why she’s here, what he wants from her.</p>
<p>She tries to swallow, but her mouth his dry. She licks her lips. “Who are you?” she asks, her voice shaky and hoarse.</p>
<p>He raises an eyebrow. “I think you know very well who I am,” he says. “I’m sure your father told you all about me.” He puts the knife away, but she knows it’s there now.</p>
<p>Her dad has never been overly specific in what he tells her about the people who are out to get him. But she hears things. She knows one of her dad’s core objectives is cracking down on crime—knows he’s been trying to sniff out corrupt cops and politicians, with the aim of taking down the mafia. A noble, but idiotic goal.</p>
<p>And this man—surely he can’t be the boss? He looks way too young. And would he really be doing this kind of dirty work himself, bothering with some nobody senator’s daughter, when he could have someone else do it for him?</p>
<p>She bites her lip. And yet some part of her knows instinctively that it is him. Bellamy Blake, famed mob boss, that no one in his time has ever even tried to take down, not before Jake Griffin. Clarke can see why he would take that personally.</p>
<p>“Bellamy Blake,” she whispers, and she can see from his pleased expression that she’s right.</p>
<p>“Good girl,” he says, patronisingly. Yet something inside Clarke still exults in his praise. No matter how hard she tries to kick it, she’s still that girl who craves everybody else’s approval.</p>
<p>“What do you want?” Clarke whispers. She’s trying to sound strong, unafraid. She’s not some scared little girl who’ll let a low-life mobster rattle her. But she can tell he doesn’t buy it from the way he just keeps grinning, as if her whole existence is nothing but a joke to him. “You want money? Fine, just don’t harm me, and my Daddy will give you anything you want.”</p>
<p>“Oh no, sweetheart,” he says, his smile never dropping. “I don’t want any money. I have plenty of money.”</p>
<p>“Then what?”</p>
<p>His smile seems to grow wider, and he leans in, his breath on her face. He smells like breath mints and expensive cologne. Also not what she would’ve expected from a dirty mobster.</p>
<p>“I’ve seen you around,” he says, whispers it almost. “Daddy’s perfect little princess. Never put a foot out of line, never do anything that could ruin your spotless reputation. At least, you never get caught, do you? Wouldn’t want up to mess up your daddy’s precious political career.”</p>
<p>“I don’t understand,” she says quietly.</p>
<p>“I want to ruin you,” he growls, and something stirs within her. “And your father’s image along the way.” He’s so close to her, she could count his beautifully long eyelashes. It’s disconcerting, confusing. He could lean in a few centimetres and kiss her. Her lips part, as if in preparation.</p>
<p>“What do you mean?” she squeaks, though the swirling in her lower belly tells her she’s pretty sure she already knows what he means. She tries to keep her body still, lest he realise the effect he’s having on her.</p>
<p>He fists her hair in his hand tightly, sharp pain spearing through her scalp as he tugs, and she lets out a tiny squeal. Her cunt throbs traitorously at his rough treatment. He pulls at her hair, forcing her to turn her head to the left. For the first time, she notices some kind of recording device set up on a tripod. It’s the only thing in the cold, bare room, apart from the metal frame double bed she’s sitting on. Her stomach lurches sickeningly.</p>
<p>“I’m going to fuck you,” he says, his voice low. It’s not threatening, exactly, more like he’s just stating a fact. She lets out a small, involuntary gasp. “I’m going to fuck you like the little whore you are, make you come all over my cock, make you take it in every one of your tight little holes.”</p>
<p>A whimper escapes her mouth, against her will. She’s gushing at the thought of it, squeezing her thighs together, unable to stop herself, though the rest of her is paralysed with fear.</p>
<p>He laughs. “Oh,” he says, condescendingly. “You like that, don’t you, sweetheart? Little slut, aren’t you? Desperate for it.”</p>
<p>She tries to shake her head, but his grip on her hair is so tight, she can barely move it. “No,” she grinds out instead. Pretending she’s brave, that she can talk her way out of this, that he hadn’t just made it clear he’s going to rape her, with the implication that the whole thing will be caught on tape.</p>
<p>He laughs again. “You want it so bad,” he taunts. “Bet your pussy is wet for me, right now, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>Clarke whimpers, mortified at her body’s betrayal, her face hot, wishing she could deny it. She refuses to answer, refuses to meet his eyes, but he tugs on her hair, forcing her to look at him. Tears prick in her eyes.</p>
<p>“Let’s see,” he says in a low, gravelly voice. He keeps their eyes locked as he forces a hand between her thighs, and though she tries to squeeze them tighter to stop him, it’s no use. He presses his fingertips to her throbbing cunt. His unwanted touch should revolt her, make her recoil, but she can’t deny the pleasant sparks that shoot through her at the contact. She hates him. She hates herself.</p>
<p>He doesn’t even have to circumnavigate her panties—she’s soaked them right through. He laughs harshly at the discovery. “How long have you been this wet, huh? Absolutely dripping. You’re just a dirty whore, desperate for my cock to rip you in half.”</p>
<p>Clarke lets out a sob, and tears spill from her eyes. She doesn’t want to want it, but she’s aching between her legs, empty, craving. His fingers remain lodged between her thighs, and it’s all she can do not to thrust her hips, hump his fingers, anything for some friction.</p>
<p>“Don’t worry,” Bellamy says, mocking.  Her pulls away, letting her hair go. “I’m going to film the whole thing, so you’ll get a nice little souvenir. And if your daddy wants to make sure this thing never sees the light of day, he’ll back off, understood?”</p>
<p>She spits in his direction, and it lands at his feet. She’ll need to work on her projection.</p>
<p>“Wrong answer, sweetheart,” he growls, surging forward, his jaw tight. His hand wraps around her throat, and she can feel her pulse jump against his fingers, pressing ever so lightly into the sides of her neck. “You’re going to get fucked, and you can either make it easy, or you can make it hard.”</p>
<p>“I’m not going to just lie back and let you rape me, if that’s what you think,” she says coldly, tears still wet on her face. She’s surprised at the evenness of her own voice. He could choke the life out of her right here, and she’d never have a chance. He can do anything he wants to her, and he’s going to.</p>
<p>His eyes sparkle, and his grin returns, more malicious now. “Hard it is then,” he says, dropping his hand. “Good. That’s the way I prefer it.”</p>
<p>He slips the knife from his sleeve again, and Clarke flinches as it glints in the dim light. He holds the knife to her neck, and her breath catches, her bravado from seconds ago evaporating. He’s in control here, and she’s just a toy for him to play with.</p>
<p>She exhales as he pulls the knife away from her neck. She’s pretty sure he isn’t going to kill her, but it doesn’t make the blade any less terrifying. He can still hurt her plenty.</p>
<p>The knife isn’t meant for her skin though, it seems. He flicks the knife down to the low neckline of her dress, slicing through it with little effort. Clarke cries out as he cuts through her dress, down to her belly button, exposing her bare breasts, then fisting the material in his hands and ripping it the rest of the way.</p>
<p>It’s like it hits her then, that this is actually happening. These aren’t just empty threats to scare her. Despair bubbles up in her throat, manifesting in the form of tears that well in her eyes and pour down her cheeks.</p>
<p>She tries to squirm away from him, cover herself, her exposed tits swaying in front of him, her nipples all hard and puckered, like they’re longing for a mouth to suck on them. He grabs her by her hair again, the stinging pain bringing more tears to her eyes. She lets out a pathetic sob as he cuts the straps on her dress, removing the garment from her body entirely, and she’s left in just her wet panties and her stripper heels.</p>
<p>“Aren’t you just the picture of a perfect little slut?” Bellamy laughs, tugging on her hair. “Bet you’d have your legs spread wide open if your ankles weren’t bound.”</p>
<p>Clarke whimpers, her body burning in shame. He’s right, she is a slut. She feels like a slut, looks like a slut. She’s sitting here mostly naked, terrified out of her mind that she’s about to be raped on camera by a mobster who just wants to get at her father. And she’s wet. Her cunt is pulsing, desperate for something to clench around.</p>
<p>“Please,” she whines, tears falling freely. “Please don’t do this. Just let me go, we can pretend this never happened. The video is only going to prove your guilt, you’ll get caught.”</p>
<p>He grins down at her. “The video is only going to prove just how bad you wanted it,” he says. “No judge would convict me when they see what a fucking whore you are. When you come with my cock in you. Everyone in that court room will see you like this, coming as you beg me to rape you.”</p>
<p>Clarke sobs. She has no idea if he’s right or not, but the thought of anyone seeing her like this is too much to bear. She knows she could never actually use the evidence. She’d die of shame.</p>
<p>Bellamy’s eyes drop, and he eyes her tits lecherously. “Look at those big fucking whore tits,” he says. “Can’t wait to come all over them.”</p>
<p>He puts the knife between his teeth to free his hands so he can grab her tits, squeezing roughly, jiggling them, pulling on her nipples, his only intent to humiliate her. And yet, his actions still contribute to the growing ache between her legs, the heaviness she feels there, the yearning she feels for some kind of pressure.</p>
<p>His eyes drop then, to where her thighs are squeezed together, as if he can see the effects of his fondling going directly to her clit.</p>
<p>He takes the knife from his mouth, and his intention becomes clear even before he speaks.</p>
<p>“Time to show me your whore cunt, I think,” he muses.</p>
<p>Something between excitement and terror pulses through her. It sparks her into action, knowing she’s about to lose her panties, her last line of defence. Once they’re gone, she’s naked, it’s over, he’ll touch her and use her and she won’t be able to stop him.</p>
<p>Panicked, she throws her body across the bed, not really sure what her goal is, only that she has to get away from him, that she can’t stay placid and simply let him cut her panties off her, expose her pussy and ass to him.</p>
<p>She tries to shuffle her way across the bed on her back, but it’s futile. He’s on top of her in a second, pinning her between his knees, towering over her, knife in one hand, the other circling her throat again, keeping her submissive. Her heart races, and the panic grows as he grabs the front of her panties, fingers still curled around the knife, his knuckles brushing her mound.</p>
<p>He pulls them down first, and then she’s all on display for him to see. She blushes from her hairline to her chest as he looks at her bare cunt against her will.</p>
<p>“Fucking soaking,” he laughs. “You can cry and pretend all you want, sweetheart, but your pussy tells a different story.”</p>
<p>He needs two hands to cut her panties off, and he releases the pressure from her neck so he can hack through the black lace. He dangles the ruined underwear in her face, and she can smell her arousal on them. Her thighs are wet with her juices too, and there’s no denying how turned on she is, despite her utter humiliation. Or, perhaps, because of it.</p>
<p>He tosses her panties onto the bed beside her, and Clarke squeezes her eyes shut, turning her head away from him, as though she thinks maybe if she pretends it isn’t happening, she’ll wake up from this nightmare.</p>
<p>Her stomach lurches as she feels him force her knees open, and then thick fingers probe at her cunt, her slick making it easy for him despite her unwillingness. He breaches her threshold, filling her up with two fingers. Her pussy pulses around them greedily, her thighs squeezing his big hand between them. She keeps her body still, though her body wants to writhe on his fingers, get them deeper inside her.</p>
<p>“Pretty tight for a whore,” Bellamy says. “My cock is going to absolutely wreck you.”</p>
<p>Clarke bites her lip to stop a sound from escaping. She remains perfectly motionless, her eyes still closed, Bellamy’s fingers still inside her. Eventually she feels him pull away, her own arousal trickling onto her thighs as he gets off the bed.</p>
<p>Cautiously, Clarke opens her eyes, unsure, wondering why he’s stopping. The knife is hidden from view now, tucked away out of sight. Her stomach bottoms out as she watches him undoing his pants, and he pulls his cock out.</p>
<p>It’s big, of course it’s big, and Clarke whimpers pathetically at the sight of it, knowing he’s going to put inside her, fuck her deep and hard with it, make her take it, whether or not she’s actually capable of it.</p>
<p>He sheds his clothes completely, so he’s naked, confident in it, basking, godlike, completely at odds with the Clarke’s shame and discomfort. His nudity is proof of his power, while Clarke’s is used against her, to degrade her, make her helpless and weak.</p>
<p>He’s only half hard as he returns to the bed, kneeling beside her head, then swinging his leg over her, so he has a knee either side of her, his cock swaying menacingly in front of her face. She closes her eyes and tries to look away again, but Bellamy grabs her face, squeezing her jaw so tight it will likely bruise.</p>
<p>“Look at me,” he rumbles. “Look at me, or I’ll make it much worse for you.”</p>
<p>Clarke isn’t sure how it could get worse, but she opens her eyes anyway, not willing to take the chance. He lowers his balls onto her face, rubs his cock against her wet cheek until he’s fully hard. Clarke sobs as he demeans her his way, marks his territory with his crotch on her face.</p>
<p>“If you even think about biting, I will make sure you regret it,” he growls, and Clarke whimpers her understanding. “Open,” he commands. “Don’t make me ask twice.”</p>
<p>Clarke lowers her jaw, reluctantly opening her mouth for him, and it’s immediately filled with one of his massive balls, and she gags on it in surprise. He tastes like sweat and salt, natural and masculine. He tops off his show of dominance by replacing his ball with his cock, shoving it into her mouth without warning, right to the back of her throat.</p>
<p>She chokes, but he doesn’t let up, and she has to try to relax her throat, stifle her gag reflex as he fucks her face, the bed creaking, his balls slapping against her chin. He uses her mouth, grunting as he thrusts, one hand on the bed to steady himself, the other tangled in her hair.</p>
<p>“That’s it,” he pants. “Choke on my cock, slut. That’s all you’re good for. Fucking whore.”</p>
<p>Tears stream from her eyes, blurring her vision, her distress making her already constricted breathing even harder.</p>
<p>“God you’re a fucking mess,” Bellamy taunts, though his voice is a little strained. “Ruining your pretty make up with your tears. Cry all you want. It’s not going to make me feel sorry for you, sweetheart.”</p>
<p>He stops abruptly, pulling back, leaving her throat sore and stinging from his abuse. He moves back, stroking his cock with one hand, the other latching onto her neck, pressing firmly, not enough to cut off her air supply, but enough to make her head spin. Her jerks his cock frantically, until thick jets of come spurt out, landing on her face, on her tongue, on her tits, covering her in his sticky seed, taking her by surprise.</p>
<p>If her make up wasn’t already ruined from her tears, it certainly is now. Globs of come congeal on her face, and in her hair and eyelashes. And then, as if he hasn’t debased her enough, he grabs her face, holding her in place as he hocks up a wad of saliva, and spits it onto her face.</p>
<p>“That will teach you to spit at me,” he growls. He lurches off the bed, grabbing her discarded panties to wipe his cock clean. He rubs them over her face, not gently, and all it does is make the panties sticky and spread come further over her face. He tosses them aside again.</p>
<p>Clarke lies there, naked, stunned, covered in his come. She feels worthless, just like he wants her to. She wants to cry, but either she’s out of tears, or she’s still in shock from the way he just utterly degraded her.</p>
<p>Bellamy strides over to his pile of clothes, crouching down to retrieve the knife. He spins it in his hand as he walks back to where Clarke is lying on the bed, his cock swinging between his legs. It doesn’t look any less intimidating when he’s soft. She wonders how long she has before he’s ready again, before he takes her for real, rapes her pussy, or her ass, or both.</p>
<p>He doesn’t look at her as he pulls her heels off, then saws through the ropes binding her ankles. Clarke’s heart leaps. Is he letting her go? Maybe he’s had enough of her. Maybe the face fucking was enough for him to be satisfied. He’s got enough on camera already to haunt her for the rest of her life.</p>
<p>But then he’s forcing her legs open, and Clarke catches sight of the ropes already tied to the foot of the bed.</p>
<p>“No!” she cries, her voice strangled, as she realises she still has some fight left in her, a fresh wave of resistance coming over her. She kicks at him, manages to free her ankles from his grasp, and if she can just get off this bed, maybe she can escape.</p>
<p>He curses at her, and she rolls onto her belly, giving her arms some relief. He’s faster though, recovering from her kick quickly, grabbing her leg as she tries to squirm away. He grips her tighter now, and her thrashing does nothing to throw him off. He straps her ankles to the foot of the bed, first one, then the other, her legs spread wide, her pussy utterly defenceless.</p>
<p>He crawls on top of her, cutting through the ropes around her wrists, this time having the foresight to keep her pinned down with his bodyweight so she can’t escape.</p>
<p>He grabs her arms and forces them above her head, then winds the rope tied to the bars on the bedhead around her wrists, securing them in place. Clarke starts blubbering again, her small ounce of hope extinguished.</p>
<p>“Shut up,” Bellamy growls, pulling on the ropes to make sure they’re secure. “I’m fucking sick of your whining. Trying to pretend you’re not a whore, that your pussy isn’t desperate to get raped.”</p>
<p>“I’m not,” Clarke sobs. “I don’t want this. Please. Please stop.”</p>
<p>Bellamy lifts his weight off her, and a sick sense of anticipation swirls in Clarke’s stomach, wondering where he is, what he’s doing. Moments later, he’s forcing her mouth open, shoving something inside, some sort of wet material. It takes her a second to realise it’s her cut up, messy panties, still covered in her arousal, and his come and spit.</p>
<p>Clarke moans helplessly around the panties in her mouth, but they do the job, muffling her voice. Clarke burns with shame. Her own dirty panties in her mouth, tied up like a whore, come all over her face and chest, the camera catching every second of her disgrace.</p>
<p>“Better,” Bellamy says, pleased. “That should keep you quiet. Don’t worry, I’ll still be able to tell if you’re enjoying it.”</p>
<p>Tears roll down silently down her face as Bellamy moves back around, getting on the bed behind her to kneel between her open legs. Her pussy leaks onto the mattress below her, and she’s never felt more vulnerable and powerless in her life. How can she still be turned on after everything he’s done to her so far?</p>
<p>He’s degraded and humiliated her, and there’s only more to come, and yet her body still responds to him, lets her know that deep down maybe she really does want it. That she really is nothing but a whore, desperate to be fucked by a big, hard cock.</p>
<p>“Now,” Bellamy says from behind her. “Should I fuck your pussy? Come in your whore cunt, get you pregnant? Force you to have my baby? Or should I spare you that particular humiliation and fuck your tight little ass? There’s no lube, so I’d be taking you dry. But you’d enjoy it anyway.”</p>
<p>Clarke tries to respond, but her words are swallowed by the panties in her mouth. He laughs at her predicament.</p>
<p>“I wasn’t really asking you anyway,” he tells her with a laugh.</p>
<p>Clarke holds her breath as he shifts above her, anxiously waiting to find out the choice he’s made. She’s actually <em>relieved </em>when she feels the thick head of his cock slide against the folds of her pussy.  But then he’s pushing into her, and the panic returns, because he’s big, he’s too big, but her pussy takes him anyway, because she has to, because deep down she craves it.</p>
<p>She moans as he stretches her open, and her pussy is so full, stuffed to the brim with his massive cock, and she feels like she might break, and she feels like she might pass out. She throbs around him, her pussy aching, yearning for more, needing him to fuck her, to take her like the whore she is.</p>
<p>“God, you fucking slut,” he spits. “You took my whole fucking cock like it was nothing. You’re so fucking wet. You’re a fucking needy little bitch, aren’t you? A dumb whore, who just needs a huge cock to fill her holes.”</p>
<p>He lies on top of her, not moving, keeping her trapped beneath him, his cock wedged inside her. She whimpers, her pussy clenching, half wanting him out of her, half desperate for him to keep going, to rape her poor, craving pussy.</p>
<p>“Look at the camera,” Bellamy rumbles quietly. “I want the audience to see just how bad you want it.”</p>
<p>Clarke turns her head to the side, facing the camera, reminding her that even after this is over, she’ll never truly be free of this nightmare. But she won’t come, she promises herself she won’t come. He can use her, rape her, make her feel worthless and pathetic. But she won’t enjoy it, won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her orgasm.</p>
<p>He starts thrusting then, his pelvis slapping against her ass as he fucks her vigorously. She’s nothing to him, nothing but a hole to use, a toy to play with and discard.</p>
<p>But it feels good, it feels good. His massive cock pounds into her roughly, destroying her cunt, fucking her into the bed, her nipples chafing against the mattress below her as the whole thing shakes with his movements.</p>
<p>She tries not to moan, but with every thrust she can feel the coil insider her grow tighter, can feel the tension building, no matter how she tries to stop it. She whines beneath him, squirming, trying to hold it off.</p>
<p>It’s futile though, and within minutes she’s on the edge, her body writhing in pleasure, unable to control the sounds from her mouth as she desperately tries to keep her orgasm at bay. She cries out as it hits her, even the panties in her mouth barely stifling the sound. Pleasure jolts through her, her body shuddering as she comes on his cock as he continues to fuck her through it.</p>
<p>It just keeps going and going, and she pulls on the ropes, grinding her hips against the mattress, wetness gushing from her cunt. She lets out a pathetic sob, knowing the camera caught everything, knowing there’s no denying what just happened, that she just orgasmed as she was raped, that she truly is a whore.</p>
<p>He laughs at her, even as he’s still fucking her. “God, that didn’t take long,” he says scornfully. “Did my big cock make you come, sweetheart? Couldn’t stop it, could you? Feels good to be treated like the dirty slut you are.”</p>
<p>He stops then, though he hasn’t come yet, but Clarke can barely find it in herself to be grateful. She’s humiliated at her body’s betrayal. She’s never come so hard in her life, and she’s still feeling the aftershocks, her pussy spasming around his cock.</p>
<p>He pulls out, and she feels empty, hollow. Her hips chase him involuntarily, humping against the mattress beneath her, trying to get him back inside. She feels herself grow hot as she realises what she’s doing. Is she really such a desperate slut?</p>
<p>“Still fucking horny, aren’t you? Can’t go a few seconds without a cock in your cunt, can you? Pathetic,” he snarls. “Wait until your daddy sees this video. Sees how you came all over my cock, how you humped the bed like a little whore.”</p>
<p>Clarke moans pitifully around her makeshift gag, and Bellamy slaps her on the ass, leaving a stinging handprint.</p>
<p>“Now, I’ve had enough of your cunt, I want a taste of your ass before I come.”</p>
<p>Clarke shakes her head, manages to spit the panties out of her mouth so she can speak. “No,” she croaks, her voice watery and weak. “Not my ass. Please not my ass.”</p>
<p>He ignores her. He spreads her ass cheeks, and lines his cock up with her hole, pushing the head in without preamble. Clarke clenches her asshole, trying to dislodge him, but he keeps pushing, and she has to try and relax or it will only hurt more.</p>
<p>His cock is slick with her come, and it makes it a little easier, but it’s still painful as he shoves his cock into her asshole, and tears run down her come-stained cheeks. She moans and whimpers in pain as he stretches her tight hole, and it feels so wrong, so fucking unnatural to have him filling her ass up, and yet part of her revels in the pain, in the indignity of having her ass fucked.</p>
<p>Her pulls on her hair as he fucks her, and it somehow evens out the pain, so she can’t focus on just one spot. She’s crying, and it hurts, and it’s humiliating, but even still, she can feel the pressures start to build again, and she knows he’s got more in him, that he’ll make her come again, his cock in her ass, before he’s even close.</p>
<p>She begs him to stop, begs for something anyway, pleading as he fucks her, panting and moaning as she gets close, and he’s still riding her for all she’s worth. Her second orgasm is less powerful, but just as embarrassing, her ass tightening around his cock, an elongated moan tearing from her mouth.</p>
<p>He doesn’t even taunt her this time, doesn’t make fun of her for coming from having her ass fucked like the whore she is. Perhaps he knows she’s berating herself enough for that. He pulls his cock from her ass and slams it back into her pussy, and she feels dazed now, her ass and pussy both raw and stinging from the abuse, but he keeps going, and she comes a third time, almost blacking out seconds before he fills her with his come, a triumphant roar ripping from his lungs.</p>
<p>It’s all too much, the pain, the pleasure, the shame. Her head spins, her body collapses. He pulls out of her, and she’s unaware of him now, but every sensation is heightened. The come leaking from her pussy. The dull pain of the ropes around her wrists and ankles, the places her gripped her already bruising. The more apparent pain in her pussy and ass, feeling wrecked and abused.</p>
<p>She doesn’t know if she loses consciousness or just sense of time, but the next thing she knows he’s sitting on the bed by her head, untying the ropes, the bindings that had secured her ankles already gone.</p>
<p>“Bellamy,” she croaks as he rubs her wrists soothingly. He’s Bellamy again, <em>her </em>Bellamy. She needs him close, needs him to make her feel loved, after everything they just did.</p>
<p>“Shh, it’s okay,” he murmurs. “We’re gonna get you cleaned up, okay, baby?”</p>
<p>Clarke nods, or tries to, at least. He grabs the bowl of water sitting on the bed, though Clarke can’t remember him going to get it. He pulls a cloth from it, wiping her face down with warm water, and then her breasts too, and between her legs.</p>
<p>“Bellamy,” she whimpers, feeling like she might cry. She doesn’t care about being clean, she just wants him to hold her.</p>
<p>He sets the bowl down on the floor, quickly lying down beside her, pulling her into his arms. She buries her head into his chest, needing to feel him covering her entirely. She takes a deep breath, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of him.</p>
<p>“Are you okay, baby?” he asks her.</p>
<p>Clarke nods. She’s okay. A little sore, but it was nothing she didn’t want, nothing she couldn’t handle. She would have said her safe word if he’d taken it too far.</p>
<p>It had been her idea—rough sex is a regular thing for them, and she’d wanted to take it further, wanted to live out the fucked-up fantasies always playing in her head. He’d taken some convincing, but they talked the whole thing through until they were both satisfied she wouldn’t be truly hurt, and that she wouldn’t hate him for doing it.</p>
<p>She’s always been turned on by his dangerous profession. Part of what drew her to him—knowing that her dad would disapprove, that Bellamy’s life is so completely in contrast with what her own is. And he just wanted the thrill of fucking his worst enemy’s only daughter.</p>
<p>Somewhere along the way they both fucked up at fell in love.</p>
<p>“I love you,” he assures her, stroking her back, and her hair. “I love you so much. You did such a good job, baby, I love you.”</p>
<p>The warm pressure of him, and his words of affirmation reassure her, and her breathing evens out in the safety her provides her. He presses kisses to her hair, to her face when she lifts it up to meet his eyes.</p>
<p>“Good girl,” he whispers. He brings her wrists to his lips, kissing each one lovingly, tenderly. He kisses her neck, where he choked her, then her eyelids as her eyes flutter shut, and then the tip of her nose. Nobody else gets to see him this way, so soft and doting. This part is just for her.</p>
<p>“Tell me how you were feeling, baby,” he coaxes.</p>
<p>“Turned on,” Clarke says, and she feels him smile against her forehead.</p>
<p>“Were you scared?”</p>
<p>Clarke nods. “A little bit,” she admits. “I let myself get lost in it. But I knew you wouldn’t really hurt me.”</p>
<p>“I love you,” he says again. “You want to come home with me? I’ll run you a bath, make you some food.”</p>
<p>“Yes, please.” She’ll text her dad later, pretend she’s at a friend’s house. He won’t panic that she’s not home, but he doesn’t need to know her boyfriend is the mob boss he’s trying to take down. She’s saving that particular piece of information for when she’s feeling <em>really </em>rebellious.</p>
<p>“Okay,” Bellamy says, but he just keeps holding her, sensing she’s not ready to move just yet.</p>
<p>“Bell?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, baby?”</p>
<p>“When can we watch the video?”</p>
<p>He chuckles at that. “How about tomorrow, hm? We better let you recover first.”</p>
<p>She hums her agreement. She knows watching it back will only turn her on, and she’s probably going to need at least a day before she’s ready to be fucked again.</p>
<p>When she’s finally ready to be moved, Bellamy dresses her in the spare clothes he bought for her—one of his t-shirts and a pair of his boxers. He dresses himself, then carries her out to his car, bundling her into the passenger seat.</p>
<p>He keeps his hand on her thigh as he drives, letting her know he’s there, that he’s got her, that she’s safe.</p>
<p>He carries her into his house, runs her a warm bath, and she lies against his chest as he washes her clean. And then she lets him dry her off, and scoop her up and put her in his bed, where he curls around her, whispering that he loves her until she falls into a deep, dreamless sleep.</p>
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